


A Word

by Jamie_Douglas



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Douglas/pseuds/Jamie_Douglas
Summary: Claire has been gone for months and Jamie is beside himself. He needs release, badly, and Lord John Grey is looking better and better. Will their games turn from chess to something else?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 60
Kudos: 64





	1. Perfect Beauty

Jamie gently traced a finger over the dark hairs on Lord John Grey’s chest, watching his lover’s breath rise and his nipples harden at the touch. He bent over and flicked his tongue over John’s left nipple, causing Grey to place a hand on the back of Jamie’s head to urge him on. The full lips closed over the nipple, sucking hard. John let out a gasp. 

“Did I hurt ye?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” John breathed. “Do it again.” 

***  
Their unlikely affair had begun just two days earlier when, after suffering through Claire’s absence for four long, lonely months, Jamie had finally cracked. 

Lord John had been visiting the Ridge for two weeks, having received a letter informing him that Jamie was alone. His wife had set out, reluctantly but out of a sense of duty to her calling, to tend to the inhabitants of a remote settlement. Jamie had said he understood, but the longer she was gone, the more he resented her for leaving. He had gotten used to having her warm body next to him at night, and being able to feel her touch, to make love to her almost whenever he wanted to. The past few weeks had been torture for him, and he longed for human contact. He would never lie with another woman again—not while Claire was alive. So what was to do?

At first, he simply held John’s hand a little longer than usual when they met, giving it an extra-firm squeeze that raised the Englishman’s eyebrow but provoked no comment. Then, he progressed to giving John a friendly slap on the back as he clung to those long, graceful fingers. Lately, Jamie had found himself staring at the man as they sat in the study playing chess by candlelight late into the night. Grey’s face was divinely perfect, each feature a gift from God: That perfectly rounded bottom lip, the fine-chiseled nose that looked to be inspired by some classical artist, the straight white teeth he wanted to mash against his own, those elegant, long eyebrows just begging for a tongue to run along their smooth perfection, and, above all, those eyes—oceans of sparkling blue, inviting Jamie to dive in and never resurface. He tried to content himself with fantasies, after John retired to the guest room each night. Jamie would lie awake on his own bed, touching himself, his imagination shocking him with its vivid detail. A man fantasizing about another man was one thing, but acting on such fantasies was another thing entirely. And yet…

One night when the chess game was done (he’d let Grey win again, just to see the little smile of satisfaction on his beautiful mouth), he’d laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “Stay a bit, will ye?” he asked. “Have another drink and a word wi’ me. I have trouble sleeping alone.” 

John felt the heavy hand’s pressure through his linen shirt. He’d removed his jacket late into the game, and it hung on a hook by the door. He risked a glance into Jamie’s eyes, knowing that the Scotsman would surely read in his own eyes what he felt in his heart. The hand stayed there as the two men looked at each other, blue depths reflecting blue. Surely I am misreading him, Grey thought. 

He knows, Jamie thought. How can he not? It’s too late to pretend now. I’ve been touching him for far too long. I must make my move or send him away—for good. Out loud, he said, as casually as he could, “That drink, then? Shall I get ye a wee dram?” 

“Y-yes,” John stammered, tearing his eyes away from Jamie’s. “I think I can manage another one.” 

After three more shots of Fraser whisky, both men’s tongues had loosened. Jamie had been telling Grey how lonely he’d been, and John had nodded sympathetically. He knew what that felt like. Suddenly, the conversation took a turn.  
“What’s it like, bedding a man?” Jamie asked, looking at the floor. 

Grey sputtered, the remnants of whisky searing his throat. “Well, um… you don’t really want me to talk about that, do you?” He looked at his friend, but Jamie was still avoiding his eyes. 

“Yes. Yes, I do.” His voice was soft, but certain. 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” John began. He took a deep breath. “Physical pleasure is much the same no matter who or what stimulates it, I’d say…” He glanced into his empty glass. 

Jamie shook his head, refusing to allow the nightmarish memories of Wentworth Prison to loom up. “Aye, I ken that, but what I mean is, is it different with a man? More… aggressive, like? Oh!” Jamie looked up quickly. “I’m sorry, I… I guess you wouldn’t know, not being able to compare…” 

“To compare sex with a woman to sex with a man?” John’s voice had risen slightly and his cheeks were flushed pink. “Yes, I certainly can!” 

“Really? But I thought men like you--”

“I daresay your knowledge of men like me would very likely fit into a thimble.” Grey’s brows were drawn together in displeasure. “You do recall that I was once married?” 

Jamie looked apologetic. “Aye, but… I assumed you didnae…” 

John straightened his back. “I am not one to shirk my duties, sir. Not as a soldier, and not as a husband.” 

“Did ye enjoy it?” 

“It was… not ideal, for me or for her, I’m sure,” he admitted. “But I tried my best.” 

This wasn’t working the way he’d planned. Jamie tried a different tactic. “Is the kissing different?”

John snorted. “You should know—you kissed me.” 

“Ah, so I did. But that was… I wonder if it would be different now…” He stood and advanced toward Grey, who was seated, but looking agitated. 

John rose. Both men were tall, but Jamie was slightly taller. He saw John’s throat move as he swallowed. The redhead moved in close, his lips hovering inches from Grey’s. “Show me,” he whispered. John looked into Jamie’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity, desire, and curiosity. No disgust, no contempt, no judgement. He pressed his mouth to Jamie’s, tentatively at first. Then he used the tip of his tongue to nudge Jamie’s lips open wider, and plunged his tongue in hungrily. John allowed his passion, his love for the man, to have free reign as he kissed him hard, again and again. His fingers wound themselves into auburn hair as he pulled Jamie’s head toward him, the stubble of their beards rasping together. Finally he broke off, to catch his breath.

Jamie sighed deeply. “Ah. I see. It is different.” He stood with his lips parted, silently willing Grey to continue.

“Did you enjoy it?” John threw Jamie’s own words back at him. 

“I did. And I’d like to dae it again.” He took a step toward John, who leaned in to resume their kiss. “But I’d like ye to remove your shirt first.”


	2. All of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things turn from hot to hotter until Jamie makes a request John's not sure he can fulfil.

John was astounded that Jamie seemed to want him, but he was too overcome by his own passions to think much about it. He pulled the shirt out of his breeches and started to yank it up, but stumbled backward, knocking into Jamie’s desk. How much whisky had he drunk? Too much… He so badly wanted this to be perfect. Jamie hurried over and steadied him, helped him pull the shirt off over his head. “S-sorry, I seem to be a bit…” 

Jamie pressed a finger to the younger man’s lips. “Sshh, mo ghille bòidheach. No need for apologies   
tonight.” 

John searched his addled brain for the Gaelic phrase. He’d learned a bit since coming to the Ridge. Did he really say “my beautiful boy”? Grey leaned back against the desk, overcome with emotion. An errant tear slipped down his cheek. Ashamed, he tried to brush it away. 

“I mean it, John. You are truly beautiful.” Jamie kissed the salty tear away and let his lips trail down John’s neck and throat. Then he stood back and admired the firm soldier’s body in front of him. Grey wanted to take control of himself and the situation, to strip off his breeches and advance on Fraser, show him a thing or two. But he found himself unable to move, frozen by his own vulnerability. This was just sexual curiosity for the Scotsman. For John, it was love. He should put a stop to it right now. But now, Jamie’s hands were unbuttoning John’s flies, pushing the material down, reaching to enclose his stiffening manhood in warmth. “D’ye want me to bring ye to pleasure like this, John?” Jamie’s rough hand was stroking him, with increasing pace. He thought he might faint, the pleasure was so intense. But it wasn’t enough. 

“No,” he panted. “I want—I want all of you.” Gathering his strength and courage around himself like a blanket, Lord John pushed Jamie’s hand away and began undressing the big man. Jamie stood, slightly aghast, but he didn’t stop his friend, not even when John pulled Jamie’s breeches all the way to the floor and knelt in front of him. Hard wood dug into his knees, but all John felt was lust. He needed that cock inside him, somehow. It didn’t matter where. In the dim candlelight, he saw Jamie’s member grow in front of him. He leaned forward and closed his hot lips around it, sucking gently on the tip. Jamie moaned and grasped John’s head in his hands, gently thrusting forward to meet him. John relaxed his throat and took Jamie’s cock as far as it would go, relishing the ecstatic groan that action elicited from his partner. He spent a few minutes sucking and licking, cradling Jamie’s balls in one hand, until the redhead gently pushed him away. “What’s the matter?” He looked up at Jamie with dreamy, swimming-pool eyes. 

“Ye said ye wanted all o’ me. I want the same.” Jamie took John’s hand and helped him up, then turned his friend’s naked body and bent him over the desk with a light push on his back. 

Alarmed, John whipped around. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You can’t just…”

“Don’t ye want me inside you?” Jamie’s voice was hurt.

“Yes, yes, dear God help me, yes. Always. But…” he glanced down at Jamie’s rigid cock. “I’m usually the one doing the… and you’re huge…” 

Jamie’s wide eyes pleaded. “Help me then. Show me what to do. I don’t want to hurt ye, John, but I need ye. Badly.”


	3. Like a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lord John schools the savage Scotsman.

After a few minutes of desperate searching, they found a jar of skin cream that Claire had rarely used, and John was now dipping his fingers into it while Jamie stared at him hungrily. “I don’t want to do it like that,” John said, gesturing to the desk his lover had so unceremoniously bent him over. 

Right now, Jamie was prepared to agree to do it swinging from the dining room chandelier. “Fine,” he nodded, not taking his eyes off the fingers that were now covered in white lotion. “Anywhere you like. Just tell me.” 

“Well,” Grey smirked, “normally a bedroom would be the likely place, would it not?” He rubbed his slippery fingers together, testing the mix, then spread the stuff over his arm until it absorbed. 

“Of course. I’m sorry.” The Scotsman took John’s arm and guided him roughly to the staircase. 

John suppressed a laugh. He did not feel like a lady needing to be escorted up the stairs, but if Jamie wanted to treat him like one for now, that was all right. 

They reached the master bedroom quickly. John stretched out, naked, on the bed while Jamie opened a window to let in the cool night breeze. Suppressing his urge to leap onto the bed and savage the man, Jamie tried to emulate his friend’s polished manners. He left the room and returned shortly with a silver tray bearing two wine goblets and a bottle. He set the tray down on a side table, uncorked the bottle, and poured the blood-red liquid into each glass. 

John didn’t want any wine, especially on top of all that bloody whisky, but he accepted the proffered glass with grace, nodding slightly. He raised it to his lips and tasted—it actually was quite a good wine. He made a mental note to ask Fraser about it later. 

“Those lips…” 

“Pardon?” He thought Jamie had spoken, but he wasn’t certain what he had heard. 

“Your lips… so pink and perfect… like a—a rosebud.” Jamie blushed furiously, embarrassed by his clumsy attempt at poetry. 

Grey licked a drop of wine off his lip and set his glass down on the bedside table. “Why don’t you come here, Jamie? You seemed so eager before, but now…” 

Jamie inched over to the bed and gingerly sat down. “I still am. It’s just…” He looked at his hands as he fidgeted with the bedclothes. “I want to make you happy, and I don’t know…”

It was John’s turn to be the confident one. “Let’s just go slowly.” Dragging this out was agonizing for him, but agonizingly pleasurable. He didn’t want it to be over quickly—he wanted this night to last forever, especially since he knew it may never happen again. He patted the space beside him and Jamie obediently climbed onto it. Then John slid down to the bottom of the bed, crouching, and lifted Jamie’s right foot in his hand. 

“What the devil--” Grey was slowly drawing his tongue over the sole of Jamie’s foot, causing the Scotsman to shiver with unexpected delight. He was glad he’d had a good wash that morning. Now John was planting tiny kisses all the way up his calf and thigh, stopping at his erection. He gave it a quick lick and Jamie brought his hand toward John’s head but the Englishman swerved away, lying back against the bed instead. Jamie watched as John took the tin of cream from the bedside, scooped out a good amount, and reached behind himself, bending his knees up as he did so. 

“Let me,” Jamie gulped, reaching for the tin. 

John smiled and brought his knees up higher, giving his lover a clear view of his tight white rear. The cream was cool against his skin as Jamie smeared it on with painstaking delicacy. Then a tentative finger was probing him, seeking entrance. As it slipped inside, Grey saw Jamie’s cock stand up taller and lean toward him like a plant searching for sunlight. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the feel of Jamie’s digit inside him, probing deeper and deeper. “Two fingers,” he instructed, and Jamie obeyed, gently inserting another. After only a few seconds of this new penetration, John whispered, “Now three.” He’d had men inside him before, though not many, but he didn’t want to dismay Jamie by crying out in pain if it proved to be too much. 

Jamie, for his part, had immediately gotten over his initial disinclination and was finding himself getting harder and harder by the second. Fingering John’s arse was like making love to him from a distance, and now he wanted to do it for real. He knelt between Grey’s spread knees and took his cock in hand. “Are ye ready for me?” he asked. 

John’s eyes flew open. “Yes. Remember—slowly.” 

He needn’t have said that. As much as Jamie was trying to shut out his memories of Jack Randall, that was one thing he could never forget—the searing pain when Black Jack had entered him for the first time. 

John saw his hesitation and reached his hand down. Closing it softly over Jamie’s, he guided him home, controlling the speed and pressure himself. Both men gasped as the head of Jamie’s cock pushed against John’s opening. Gradually, Grey released his hand and lifted his knees to his shoulders, surrendering himself completely to Jamie’s power. Their eyes locked as, panting, Jamie slid himself all the way in. 

“I’m going to love you like a woman, mo ghille bòidheach,” Jamie crooned to the precious gift that lay beneath him. 

“No,” John shook his head. “Love me like a man.”


	4. No Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in bed together, John and Jamie search for a connection that goes beyond the physical.

Sure enough, no woman would have the long, smooth hardness that lay against John’s belly. As Jamie slowly thrust himself in and out of his lord’s ass, he stared at that cock, wishing he could somehow take it in his mouth at the same time. Then John brought a hand up to grasp his own member, stroking it to the rhythm of their heaving bodies. Jamie dragged his gaze up to John’s face and found he couldn’t look away again. “How can yer eyes be cold fire and blue flame at once?” he asked. 

“I’m a study in contradictions,” Grey smiled, staring back. “We’re not so different, you and I. We’re both men—soldiers—and lovers, too.” 

“Warriors, aye. How many men have you killed, John?” 

“I couldn’t say.” This conversation was doing nothing for him; he just wanted to focus on the bliss of their physical connection. Perhaps Jamie was nervous, self-conscious. Needing to distract himself with talk in order to avoid the fact that he was making love to a shameless sodomite. 

“That many, then?” Jamie found the idea of Lord John slashing enemies with his sword, drawing their blood on a crowded battlefield, quite arousing. He felt a twinge of the bloodlust he felt during his own battles, the feeling of hot release when his blade cut through a man’s soft flesh. 

“Mmm,” Grey murmured, dismissing the question. He killed out of a sense of duty and honour, not because he enjoyed it. He decided to change the topic. “How does it feel, to be inside me?”

That worked. “Oh, God, John…” Jamie’s hips quickened. “It feels so good to have ye around me, so tight… What about you? Am I not hurting ye?” 

“Not at all.”

“Shall I go faster? Harder?” 

“Yes, please. Now shush.” 

An owl hooted somewhere outside the window and then the only sounds were the wind rustling the leaves of the trees that stood beside the big house and the quiet slap of skin against skin. Both men were breathing heavily, getting close to climax. John tried to concentrate on the feeling of being filled by Jamie’s girth, but his emotions kept getting in the way. Damn, it was never like this with other men. At Lavender House, he fucked for the pure pleasure of it, never once thinking of the man before him as anything more than a pleasant receptacle for his lust. But Jamie… He couldn’t say the word out loud, couldn’t tell it to Jamie, even though he already knew. He squeezed his eyelids shut and focused hard, tightening his grip on his prick. Jamie began to groan, softly at first and then louder. His hips slammed into John’s without apology. He arched his back and let out an animal cry. John felt his whole body spasm as he came, the warm liquid pooling at his middle. 

Love.


	5. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next--postcoital bliss, or awkward goodbyes?

A short while later, they were lying in each other’s arms, John idly stroking the soft, fair hairs on Fraser’s forearm as Jamie shook his head, wondering aloud. “Who would’ve thought I’d be here right now, wi’ you, like this. No one would believe it. I wouldnae believe it, if I hadnae been there myself.” 

“Mmm,” was John’s dreamy reply. The effects of the alcohol were wearing off and he was tired. And hungry. He briefly thought about mentioning the fact, but couldn’t be arsed. 

“John?” 

“Mm?” 

“Ye willnae tell anyone, will ye? About this? About us?” Jamie had removed his arm from around Grey and sat up, leaving John feeling cold where their skin had been touching. 

John hauled himself up to face his love. “Of course not. What do you take me for?” He was obviously offended. 

Jamie cast his eyes down penitently. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”

“I would never say a word, both for your sake and my own.” Now John was fully awake again, and irritated. “I don’t mean to seem rude, dear, but have you got any food in this grand home of yours?”

The big redhead leapt up. “I apologize. My manners have been…atrocious. Will some bread, meat, and cheese do ye?” 

“That would be lovely. I thank you.” Still cross, Grey turned on his side, away from Jamie, and closed his eyes. He heard heavy footfalls on the staircase and then the comforting domestic sounds of a meal being prepared. As he waited for the food to arrive, he thought back on Jamie’s question. Did it imply that this was to be a one-time event, a mistake that could never be repeated? But their lovemaking had been so tender, so sincere. He didn’t want to consider the possibility that James Fraser had simply used him for sex. He was not feeling used, just exhausted…

By the time Jamie returned to the room, Lord John was fast asleep. He debated waking him, but decided against it. The man looked absolutely angelic as he slept. Instead, Jamie set the tray down, curled up beside John, and pulled a blanket over them both.   
***  
They awoke three hours later, to the dream-killing crowing of a rooster. John looked around. The window was still open, letting in a chill. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and turned to Jamie, who was stretching his arms and making a noise like a bear just coming out of hibernation. 

“The sun is starting to come up,” John said. Then he spotted the food tray. “I’m starved!” With no attempt to hide his nakedness, he rose from the bed and headed to the tray, tearing a hunk off a loaf and stuffing it greedily into his mouth. Jamie came up behind him and draped the blanket over Grey’s shoulders. This thoughtful gesture warmed his heart, but John couldn’t help but worry. In the cold light of day, would Fraser feel the same about him? Would last night’s intimacy be forgotten, erased? 

Jamie pulled a clean sark over his head and sat in a chair facing the window. “Might get some rain today.” He cleared his throat. “John, I--”

“Before you say a word, allow me. Once I have sufficiently fortified myself and dressed, I will leave the Ridge.” Grey busied himself with his breakfast. 

Jamie stood. “What? So soon? I mean, if that’s what you want…” 

No, damn it, John thought. It is not what I want. “Last night was… memorable. But I’m sure it would be easier if I left.” 

Now Jamie was right behind him, but the two didn’t touch. “Easier for whom?” 

“I’ll just go downstairs and get my things.” 

Jamie put out a hand to stop him, then let it drop. He watched as Grey padded barefoot down the steps and then stood still for a full five minutes, wondering what to do. When he heard the front door lock creak open, he bounded down the stairs. 

“John, wait!”

The lord had one hand on the door and the other was placing his tricorn hat on his rather messy hair. His head was turned away from Jamie, but Jamie touched his chin and gently turned it back. John’s eyes were brimming. 

Jamie whispered, “Do ye want to go?” 

John saw the resigned devastation written on the Scotsman’s face. He knew that if he spoke, both his voice and his tenuous hold on his dignity would break. He shook his head silently as a tear slid down his cheek. 

“Then for God’s sake, man, don’t go. I dinnae want ye to.” 

John collapsed into Jamie’s arms and sobbed.


	6. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie tries his best to explain to John exactly how he feels about him.

For several hours, no more was said about the possibility of separation, or of what the future would bring. Each man inwardly resolved to live in the present, savouring each moment of this unorthodox relationship while he could. A light rain was falling, but it was not unpleasant. After a more proper, sit-down breakfast that included porridge and sausages—which Jamie himself cooked, his housekeeper being away at a relative’s—John and Jamie took a stroll around the property. The laird made certain that Grey’s horse was being cared for by the groom, then led John off to check the still. He unlocked the storeroom door with a heavy key and opened it quickly, scanning the room for human and beast. No one was there. He selected a small barrel from a shelf, turned the spigot, and opened his mouth wide under the subsequent stream of amber liquid. He stretched out an arm to John, beckoning him, and held the wooden cask over his head. Grey caught the precious whisky before a drop was spilled, filling his cheeks with the fiery drink and motioning wildly for Jamie to turn it off. His throat and eyes were burning, but a solid, warm glow radiated from his centre. Jamie had asked him to stay. 

An old wooden chair rested in a corner, and, swallowing the last of the whisky, John let himself drop down. 

“Well? What do ye think?” Jamie came to stand beside the chair, puffing his chest out with pride.

Grey licked his lips. “It’s good.” He grinned, knowing such scant praise would not satisfy the man.

“Hmph.” Jamie shrugged, pretending not to care. 

John yawned. “Come and sit awhile. I can’t believe you’re so chipper this morning, on what—a couple of hours’ sleep.”

“I woke up feeling happy for the first time in months,” Jamie confessed. “I just wasn’t sure how you would feel.” He sank down to the floor beside John’s chair.

“That’s ridiculous. You know damn well how I feel about you, and you always have known.” Grey let his hand fall automatically to the auburn head beside him, smoothing its wild curls. 

“Aye,” the redhead admitted. “I kent ye loved me, but I didnae ken would ye be satisfied with…with the little I could offer ye.” 

John’s hand lifted from Jamie’s head. There was that word. Love. Coming from the man he most wanted to hear speak it, only not in that way. “And what can you offer me?” His tone was wary. Both of them knew how easily he could be hurt. 

“Well, I cannae marry ye.” Jamie’s attempt at a joke fell flat. “Claire will come back, eventually,” he explained softly. “Ye know how I feel about ye, but… this would need to end then.” 

Grey glared at him. “No, Jamie, I don’t. I don’t know how you feel about me, because you haven’t told me. Ever. I’ve protected you from harm, I’ve kept your secrets, I’ve raised your child, and never once have you said more than ‘Thank you, you’re a good friend.’” 

Jamie was stunned. He hadn’t realized it before. He really had been a cad, taking his friend for granted all these years. He shifted around to face John. “Ye’re right. I’m sorry. It’s coming too late, but I’ll tell ye now.” He took a breath. “I’ve trusted my clansmen with my life. I’ve heard Ian Mor’s ghost beside me. I’ve ridden with princes, and I’ve conspired with aristocrats. But you, John Grey, you are the best man I have ever met. When I think of honour, loyalty, patience, dedication, selflessness, and compassion, I think of you. These past years, I’ve tried to model myself on you, to live up to the image ye seemed to have of me. I’m not a great man, John. But I can recognize one when I see him.” 

Grey’s throat was choked, but Jamie wasn’t finished. He took John’s hand in his own, and continued. “And on a more personal note, the sympathy you showed me at Ardsmuir, when I told you about Claire--”

“It was empathy as much as sympathy,” John cut in. 

“I know it was. At the time, I didnae know what to think when ye told me about your… friend.” 

“Hector.” 

“Aye, Hector. But I could see that it hurt ye deeply, losing him. And I’m—I’m ashamed of the way I reacted to ye, when ye touched me. I want ye to know how sorry I am about that.” He gave John’s hand a squeeze. “When I saw the look in yer eyes, and what was behind them…” 

“I sickened you.” John nodded, pulling his hand away from Jamie’s. 

“No, John. It wisnae you. It was me. I could just have said no. That I reacted with such a threat—well, it’s something I’ve regretted ever since.” His eyes were focused on Grey’s face, but the Englishman refused to look. “I felt something for you even then. Maybe that’s why… I didnae want to accept it then. I wisnae ready to. But I cherished our times together, ye must know that. And you… ye were always more than a friend to me. D’ye really think I would ha’ left my son to ye, did I not hold ye in my heart?” 

Grey finally looked into Jamie’s eyes, and saw the truth there, in shimmering blue. 

“But those are just words, John. Let me show you how I feel about you.” Fraser got to his knees and started working on Grey’s flies, with clumsy fingers. 

“Here? Are you sure?” John looked to the door.

“Dinna fash, mo bhalach. No one’s around.” His rough hand lifted John’s half-flaccid cock from his breeches and he bent his head to kiss it. Immediately, it stiffened, straining toward Jamie’s wet lips. The Scotsman held his possession by its base and ran his tongue slowly up it, twice. 

“Please,” John whispered. He grasped the back of Jamie’s head with one long hand. And then the warm, moist mouth was around him, sucking gently. “Oh, God…” he shivered. Grey hadn’t dared hope for more intimacy today—was not planning to suggest it. This tender gift was almost more than he could bear. Then the heavenly mouth was gone, replaced by a damp chill on exposed flesh. 

“Am I doing it right?” Jamie asked. 

“Y-yes, it’s… yes,” John panted. “Just watch your teeth, please.” 

“Aye, I’m trying, my lord. I’ve just never done this before.” 

Jamie bent to his task, and John sighed with pleasure as the mouth closed around him again. “You’re doing a remarkable job,” he mumbled. Grey tried to hold back, but found himself thrusting into his lover, and moaning. “You’d better stop,” he whispered. “Or…” It was too late. He tried to pull away, but Jamie’s strong hands held him to the spot as his body found its release. When it was over and Jamie sat up, John wiped a drop from his lover’s chin with a shaky finger. “I’m sorry.” He was mortified. “I won’t be offended if you spit it out.” 

Jamie held John’s gaze and swallowed hard. “I told ye I wanted all of ye.” 

Then the door flew open, sending a bitter gust of wind across Grey’s lap. Jamie jumped up and spun around. Tim, the stable boy, was standing in the doorway, his jaw hanging open at the sight of Lord John stuffing his still-hard cock back into his breeches. Jamie crossed the room in two strides and stood in front of Tim, to block his view. “Whit are ye daein’ here, boy?” he demanded.


	7. Man and Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie sees another side of John.

“I—I—just--” the boy stuttered. “I thought I heard voices.” His wide brown eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and something else that Jamie couldn’t quite recognize. 

“Aye, we were talkin’.”

“Talking, sir?” 

“Aye, talking. An’ ye didnae see anythin’ else, did ye?” Jamie advanced menacingly closer.

“N-no, sir. That is, y-yes, sir. I did.” A small smirk crept up to erase Tim’s fear. 

Suddenly, Grey was at Jamie’s side. “I’ll handle this.” He turned to the boy. “How much do you want?” 

Tim licked his lips thoughtfully. “It’s no’ money I want, your lordship.” His gaze roamed over John from head to foot. 

Jamie gasped, but John’s voice was calm. “How old are you, boy?” 

“Old enough.” 

John shook his head. “I asked you a question and I expect a reply. A truthful one.” 

Tim lifted his chin. “I’m eighteen. M’lord.” Grey raised an eyebrow. “Next week,” the boy admitted. 

John turned to Jamie and shrugged. Now it was the redhead’s turn to raise a brow. “What does he want?” Jamie turned to face the stable boy, whose tanned face and neck were now turning a deep, flushed red. “D’ye mean ye want him? Lord John?” 

“Aye, sir. And I’ll no’ tell a word o’ what I’ve seen here today.” Tim was trying to suppress a grin. He thought he had the men where he wanted them. It didn’t occur to him that they might choose to simply kill him instead. 

Grey stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of the boy’s dirt-stained shirt. “On one condition. I shall do what I like with you, not the other way around.” 

Tim nodded eagerly, and Jamie cleared his throat. “Two conditions. I’m going to watch.” He gestured to a pile of hay at the back of the room, walked to it, and spread his coat out on top. He briefly realized that he should really have that hay removed later, being a possible fire hazard in a room filled with extremely potent alcohol. Then he turned to the others and lost his train of thought. 

Grey was pulling the lad’s shirt off over his head, revealing a taut, muscular chest and arms—the body of a labourer. 

“Wasting no time, I see, John.” Jamie seethed with jealousy, but he knew he had no choice but to accept the arrangement. Unless… His hand closed over the knife he carried in his belt. 

John saw the motion as he led the boy to the hay pile. “No.” He shook his head. This boy was a mite cocky for his station in life, but he didn’t deserve to die. And neither of them could risk Tim telling everyone on the Ridge what he’d seen, if John didn’t show him a good time. So he pushed his way past the giant Scotsman, leading the stable lad by the hand. “Take off your trousers,” Grey ordered. Tim stood unmoving. 

“Yer breeks, lad,” Jamie chimed in. “Get them off.” 

“Yes, and get down on the floor like the dog you are. On your knees,” John added. Jamie gave him a sidewise look and John smiled. The butch redhead was about to see another side of Lord John Grey. Once the young man was in position atop Jamie’s coat, John leaned forward and gave the naked young buttocks a resounding slap. “That’s for your insolence, dog! How dare you attempt blackmail on your betters?” 

Tim whimpered. “I beg your pardon, m’lord. You’re right, m’lord. I am a dog. A—a filthy animal.” He bowed his head toward the floor. 

“Yes, and I shall use you like one.” Grey gave Jamie a wink before removing his jacket and pants and handing them to the astonished laird, who folded them carefully over one arm. He knelt behind the lad, his slightly damp shirt brushing against the bare skin of Tim’s backside. A red handprint welled up from the tender skin. 

“Please, sir. M’lord.” 

Suddenly John’s conscience got the upper hand. “Don’t worry, boy,” he sighed. “I won’t hurt you.” 

Tim craned his neck around so Grey could see his eyes. It wasn’t fear John saw there, but lust. “No, Lord John. What I meant was, please do it again. Hit me again.” 

Grey sucked in his breath, surprised but not shocked. There was very little left in the world that could shock him. “So you’ve done this sort of thing before?” 

Tim chuckled. “I’m no’ a virgin, sir. An’ ye don’t need to go easy on me. In fact, I’d rather ye didn’t.” 

John looked behind him to Jamie, a question in his eyes. 

“Best give the lad what he’s after, eh?” came the answer. The sight of John crouched behind another naked man filled Fraser with rage and an overwhelming desire to fuck them both senseless. But he stood back, not daring to upset the young rascal who held two lives in his hands. It was Lord John he had a cockstand for, not Jamie. 

Grey swung his arm back and struck Tim again, leaving another mark that would likely bruise but not injure him. He pushed the boy’s head down firmly to the ground and hoisted up his own shirttail. “Don’t even think of looking at me like that again, dog, or I’ll beat you bloody.” 

“Yes, m’lord.” 

John stuck two fingers in his mouth and sucked, then worked them quickly into Tim’s anus. The lad was clearly no virgin, but John didn’t fancy tearing his own skin off during this little endeavour. On his knees now, he bent forward and grasped both buttocks, pulling them roughly apart. Jamie watched in rigid fascination as John’s long tongue disappeared into the younger man’s ass. Tim moaned loudly, prompting Grey to clap a hand tightly over his mouth. 

“I—I’ll lock the door.” Jamie forced himself to move to secure the building, but hurried back a moment later. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. As John suddenly thrust the full length of his cock where his tongue had just been, Jamie groaned aloud. He reached into his breeches and found himself, stroking firmly. 

Tim’s muffled moans continued until Grey took his hand away to grip the lad’s hips instead. He rocked hard against him, showing no mercy. 

“Pull my hair,” Tim gasped. “My lord.” 

John obeyed, not knowing any longer who was the master. His fingers twisted into the greasy strands of black hair, and he gave a yank, jerking Tim’s head up like a horse’s. “Ah!” the boy cried, but Grey did not let go. He fucked young Tim steadily and rapidly, digging the fingernails of his other hand viciously into soft flesh. Before he stopped, John latched his teeth into the stable boy’s neck, biting hard. There was a chorus of screams, and then it was over. His seed spent, he withdrew and rolled onto his back on the dusty floor. 

Jamie had finished at the same time, jerking off into a muddy corner. Neither cared whether Tim was satisfied, but the grin on the boy’s face as he turned around told them. “Thank you, m’lord,” he bowed to John. The next thing Tim saw was a burly, sweaty Scotsman, drawing a dagger from his side. 

Jamie spoke quietly through clenched teeth. “That was the only chance ye’ll ever get. If I ever see you again, ye little worm, I’ll gut ye like a fish and throw yer entrails to the wolves.” 

The boy stood hastily, scrambled into his clothes, and ran for the door, forgetting that Fraser had locked it. The huge figure loomed up behind him, and he felt the point of the blade at his back. “N-never, sir. I’ll never be back, I promise.” The door was unlocked and then he was free, scuttling off down the path like a rat. 

“Well,” Jamie said, coming back to sit next to John on the floor. “I’m glad ye dinnae think o’ me as a dog.”


	8. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord John takes a bath.

The rain was falling harder as the two men walked back to the house. Afternoon was turning to dusk—the time of day the Scots called the gloaming. A diffuse orange glow touched the tops of the trees and a falcon shrieked somewhere in the woods behind them. 

“Do you have a bathtub?” John asked as they went in through the back door. 

“Aye, a big copper one. Cost me a pretty penny and took forever to get up here on the wagon, but Cla—that is, I like my baths.” He lit a fire in the stove and placed a large pan of water on to heat. “It’ll be a while.” 

“No matter. I just want to scrub that… that bastard from my memory, as well as from everywhere else.”

Jamie snorted. “Ye looked like ye might have enjoyed it.”

“Yes, well, the body wants what it wants, but I’m still furious with him.” 

Jamie decided to let the matter drop. He didn’t want to admit how much he’d enjoyed his first experience as a voyeur. “D’ye want to play a game while we wait?” 

“What, chess?” 

“Of course. What sort of game did ye think I had in mind? I ken ye’re younger than I, but even you’ve got to have limits,” he grinned.

“Actually, I seem to have a unique talent. Four times is my maximum, however, as far as I can tell.” Grey held his cold hands near the stove to warm them. 

“Four times—in one day?” 

“Mhmm. I will need an hour or two, if you’re thinking…”

“Aye, of course you will. Let’s play for a bit and then see.” 

They went into the study and Jamie set up the chess game, recalling memories of the night before. “Did ye ken I wanted ye, when I asked ye to stay for a dram?” 

John sat down at the small table. “I didn’t know—but I hoped.” 

They played in companionable silence until boiling sounds sent Jamie running to the stove. “The bath is in a little room off my bedroom—that was where Claire wanted it, though I said it would be better on the ground floor. She has some strange ideas, ye ken. You go on up, and I’ll bring the water to you.” 

John did as he was told. He took his time undressing, letting his thoughts wander. He knew he might have gone too far back at the still, but what choice had he had? He supposed he hadn’t needed to be quite as accommodating as the boy had wanted, but his anger at the situation had taken over. What had started as a gambit to preserve Jamie’s future safety on the Ridge had quickly turned into something darker. His handsome, lightly stubbled face frowned. Maybe Jamie wouldn’t want him anymore. Perhaps he had detested the sight he’d witnessed—only gone along with it for lack of a better option. 

His concerns were interrupted when the man in question entered the room, hoisting a heavy pan filled with steaming water. Jamie poured the contents into the tub and smiled shyly at John, who was now waiting, naked, beside it. “I’ll get another pan.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself. This will be enough.” John’s tone was polite, but he squinted into the three inches of water covering the bottom of the bathtub, clearly questioning his own statement. 

“Nonsense,” Jamie told him, and went off down the stairs again. After two more trips up and down for warm water, John convinced him to stop. He climbed into the awkwardly round tub, testing the water first with a perfectly formed foot that dangled from one long, lean limb. With his six-foot frame, he could only sit with his knees bent up to his chest, but the warm water and its steam relaxed him immediately. He opened his mouth to ask for a rag to wash with, but Jamie was well ahead of him. He had kneeled on a rug beside the tub and was now dripping a soapy wet cloth over John’s back. As his large hand smoothed the soothing water over the Englishman’s body, John closed his eyes. Maybe Jamie wasn’t so disgusted with him after all. 

“I’ll let ye do yer other bits, aye?” Jamie handed John the cloth, their wet hands touching. Then he stood and walked to the small window and looked out, tactfully giving the other man some privacy. 

John scrubbed everywhere as well as he could, lingering on some areas for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. He wanted to be clean for Jamie, although he never would be—not really. Flashes of drunken visits to various brothels popped in and out of his mind as he tried to wash their memories away. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, or that he often needed to use disreputable places—and people—to fulfil his unusual physical needs. But it would have been so beautiful, so sweet, to have been fresh and new for Jamie. 

“Are ye done, John? I dinna mean to rush ye, but…” Fraser had turned back again and was pulling his shirt off over his head, exposing the most impressive chest and abdominal muscles that Grey had ever seen. “Seeing ye there… Tell me to leave ye alone, if ye want, but I just cannae help myself.”

He held out a hand to John, who rose as gracefully as he could and stood by his love, glistening wet and naked except for the thick black ribbon in his hair. Jamie wrapped his strong arms around John, pulling him close for a deep, slow kiss. “D’ye think ye’re ready to dae it again?” he asked after a minute of exploring Grey’s mouth. 

“I’ll do my best,” John whispered, feeling his erection growing against Jamie’s thigh. The Scotsman led him to the bed, removed his own breeches, and then lay down. John joined him. He ran his hands down the length of Jamie’s hard body, admiring every perfect muscle and touching every scar. “Jamie?”

“Yes, mo bhalach?”

“Will you let me make love to you?” He looked up into his lover’s eyes. 

Jamie made a low grumbling noise in his throat, his brows drawn in confusion. Part of him did want to know what it would be like—with John. But he never wanted to go through again what he’d suffered with Jack Randall. Watching Grey and the stable hand had not upset Jamie as much as he’d feared it might. He was fairly confident that John would not have seriously hurt the lad—it was only a roleplay, an act designed for maximum satisfaction. At least, he hoped that was what it was. But would the flashbacks return, like a waking nightmare? Would Randall haunt his bed, casting his evil over what had so far been an intensely pleasant couple of days? 

John felt this hesitation as much as he saw it. Jamie’s whole body had tensed. “It’s all right, forget it. It doesn’t matter,” he insisted, turning away.

“No. No, I want ye to. I do.” As he said the words, Jamie wasn’t sure he meant them. But he lifted John’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I trust you.”

John’s heart swelled.


	9. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Jamie be able to accept such physical love from another man?

With a soft feather touch, lighter even than Claire’s, John ran his hands down Jamie’s broad back. “You are magnificent, my love,” he whispered. 

Jamie had disappeared a few minutes earlier and returned with a bottle of whisky, which he’d taken a slug from directly after Grey had politely declined, and a bottle of some mysterious substance that John assumed must be oil. Jamie had set it on the bedside table with no comment and John, not wanting to embarrass the man by asking, had simply resolved to solve the mystery on his own. Jamie clearly needed some preparation, both mentally and physically. That was fine—they had all the time in the world. 

John pressed his lips to Jamie’s skin, wishing he’d thought to shave. He worked his way down to the swell of the big man’s muscular glutes and planted some soft kisses there as well. He was being cautious, knowing Jamie might change his mind at any time. “Is this all right?” he murmured.

Jamie thought to scoff at first, thinking of all they’d done together already, but in truth he greatly appreciated the slow and gentle approach. Taking a man and being taken by one were, to Jamie, completely different. “Mmm, yes,” he replied. With his head turned the opposite way, he didn’t see John pick up the bottle of oil, but he heard it scrape over the wooden table top. When the first thick drops slid down his lower back, he arched up with anticipation. John had his hands in the oil now, spreading it down until he was massaging Jamie’s buttocks. Then a finger was carefully prodding him, and Jamie shifted suddenly onto his side, causing Grey to leap out of the way.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, trying to read Jamie’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Jamie looked away. “Ye didna startle me.” His mind rapidly sought an excuse for his odd behaviour. “Just tickled a bit, is all.” Then he lay down on his stomach again, but John kept his hands off. “Go on,” Jamie urged. 

John swallowed, trying to stop the feeling of dread in his throat from rising. This wasn’t going well. His partner must be having second thoughts. “Maybe you’d rather do something different.” 

“What, like chess?” Jamie laughed artificially. “No, really, I’m fine. Please. Continue.” 

John’s conflicted mind raced. He wanted nothing more than to sink himself into Jamie Fraser’s flesh. But not against his will. If he’d been willing to do that, it would have happened years ago, when Jamie had made the offer of his body in exchange for William’s safekeeping. “You’re sure?” 

“Aye, I’m sure.” Jamie grabbed John’s hand and replaced it where it had been. 

That seems clear, Grey thought. Still, his unease remained at the back of conscious thought, lurking somewhere behind love and lust. He brushed his lover’s opening with a fingertip, testing. Jamie didn’t move this time, so he ventured farther in. Listening closely, he was reassured by Jamie’s breath, now coming in the familiar heavy pants of desire. Drizzling on more oil, John took his time. Slowly, he pushed two long fingers in. Jamie clenched around him, and John froze. “Still sure?” 

“Aye.” 

Jamie’s voice was strained, perhaps with desire. Or perhaps not. It was so hard to tell. After a short time, John nudged Jamie’s thighs apart with a knee and knelt between them. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long. A rush of heat swept over his body, breaking out in beads of perspiration on his chest. After making certain that both he and Jamie were well lubricated, he touched his cock to Jamie’s ass. 

The Scotsman gave a strange hiss, but brought a hand around to John’s hip to encourage him. The next he knew, Grey was inside him, filling him, moving gently. 

“Oh, God, Jamie…” John’s voice was low and hoarse. He picked up his pace a little as every nerve ending in his body tingled. 

Jamie concentrated on John’s voice, but the spectre of Black Jack crept in to assault his senses. John was tender and kind. So why did he suddenly feel like he was pinned at the bottom of a dark grave, suffocating from lack of air? His hands clutched the bedclothes in a vice grip.

At the same time, John slid his hand between the mattress and Jamie’s body, searching for him. 

A hand closed over Jamie’s cock and he jumped, twisting violently and throwing Grey off with one powerful arm. John flew onto the floor, gasping. 

“Jamie, what--? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his eyes. He picked himself up off the floor and moved toward Jamie. The big Scot flinched, quickly sitting up to hug his knees. John backed away, hurt. 

“N-no, I just…” Jamie faltered. 

“It’s all right, I understand.” John’s voice was cold.

“No, ye don’t.”

“I think I do. You panicked. Because you’re not… like me. I told you I didn’t want to do it if you didn’t.” Grey kept his tone carefully neutral, but inside he was dying. This was just what he had feared. Now he’d spoiled everything. 

Jamie couldn’t bear the look in his lover’s eyes. “No, John. It’s not that, I swear.” 

Lord John sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. He could see then that Jamie was trembling. “What is it then, my love? You can tell me.” 

Jamie cleared his throat. “It’s something that happened… in Wentworth Prison.”

John looked up sharply. “What do you mean? What happened?” 

“A very sick, evil man had my wife, and I… I traded myself to him, to spare her.” He looked down at his hands. 

“Oh, God, no. Jamie…” John longed to rest a hand on Jamie’s leg, to take him in his arms, to comfort him. But he didn’t move. He felt the bile rising up from his turning stomach. “Did he… take advantage of you?” 

“Aye.” Jamie looked up, his eyes red with despair. “I was… raped. More than once.” He set his jaw firmly but a single tear fell from his chin onto the white bedclothes. 

Grey’s mind was consumed by a mixture of rage and sympathy. He wanted to hit someone, to kill the man who’d done this horrible thing. Seeing the shaking, red-eyed Scotsman reduced to a humiliated shell in front of him, though, John could do nothing but cry. Huge drops streamed over his cheeks as he tried to speak. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. I never meant to…”

“It’s no’ yer fault. An’ I did want to. I still want ye. I just…” Jamie sat himself up straight and wiped his eyes with his forearm. He didn’t want John to see him like this--broken. 

“May I touch you?” John whispered. When Jamie nodded, he placed a hand lightly on the redhead’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, either, Jamie. You have nothing to be ashamed of. What you did was…honourable.” His eyes searched for Jamie’s. “You don’t need to hide from me. Weep, my dear. It will help. I know.” 

Staring into John’s caring eyes and feeling the warmth of his hand, Jamie let himself go. His tears fell freely as John gathered him in his arms, murmuring, “It’s all right, my darling. I’m here.” 

Strangled sobs wracked the big man’s body as he clung tightly to Grey’s back. Finally, they subsided, and he pulled back, sniffling. John reached up and smoothed the matted curls from Jamie’s brow. “What did you mean, you know?” Jamie asked. 

Now it was John’s turn to look away. “I’ve had my own… unpleasant experiences.” 

Jamie recognized Grey’s characteristic understatement for what it was. His eyes narrowed into fierce slits. “Tell me who and I will kill them. I cannae bear the thought of anyone hurting ye.” 

“Nor I you.” 

The two men sat facing each other on the bed, their hands on each other’s arms. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Neither wished to relive those horrifying moments by describing them in detail. What was done was done and nothing could change that. Perhaps, John thought, there was a word that might help now. 

“I love you, James Fraser. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”


	10. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Jamie must deal with some unexpected company.

They had held each other, without saying much at all, for nearly twenty minutes when there was a sound at the front door. Someone was fiddling with the lock. 

Jamie started up, looking around wildly for a weapon. “If it’s that little bugg—I mean, bastard, Tim—I’ll kill him.” Remembering where he’d put his pistol, he rushed to a dresser at the other side of the room. Any second now, the intruder would be up the stairs. He opened the drawer, then turned around.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Claire was standing in the doorway, in nothing but her shift. She must have been planning to surprise him. Her eyes widened as she scanned the room. 

Seeing the horror on Jamie’s face, John spoke quickly. “I was exhausted from my journey and your husband kindly offered me a place to rest.”

“In our bedroom? What was wrong with the guest room?” Her eyes blazed with an unreadable mixture of emotions. 

“Forgive me, Madam Fraser. I was so tired, I simply fell onto the first bed I saw. My deepest apologies.”

“And do you always nap naked?”

“Well, yes. I was not expecting company.” 

Claire looked wildly from one man to the other. Lord John didn’t hide the smugness in his smile quite quickly enough—she caught it and rounded on him in a jealous rage. “What have you done?! What have you done with my husband, you--”

Jamie stepped between them. “Easy, Claire, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, isn’t it? What the bloody hell is it, then? Because it certainly looks to me like two naked men entertaining each other in my absence. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” She didn’t know whether to shout or to weep. How could this be happening?

Jamie had grabbed his plaid from a chair and wrapped it loosely around his body. He reached a hand out for his wife. “Mo leannan…”

“No, don’t you touch me! Get away from me! I want—I deserve—an explanation!”

“Aye, ye do. Let’s go downstairs and…”

“Oh, no. It’s not going to be that easy. I demand an explanation from both of you. Here, now.”

John had pulled the bedclothes up to cover his lower half and was sitting up, facing the couple. She stared at him. “It’s all my fault, Mrs. Fraser. I believe you are aware of my… proclivities, as well as my feelings for your husband. I tricked him into thinking I was going to sleep in the guest room, and then I came in here, instead, hoping to catch him unaware.” He bowed his head in simulated shame.

“And he happened to lose his clothes on the way up the stairs?” she mocked. “Tell me another one.” 

John looked to Jamie and shrugged, as if to say, I tried. 

“It’s all right, John. She’s my wife and she’s right—she deserves the truth.” He shifted his gaze to Claire. “I didna know when ye’d be back. I missed ye so much it was…painful. And he…helped me.” 

Claire was astonished, speechless. This was something she never would have expected of her husband in a million years. Did he really mean…?

But Jamie wasn’t finished. “Maybe we can all help each other.” He licked his lips and advanced on her, letting the plaid fall away and taking Claire’s face in his hands. “I want ye badly, Sassenach.” 

Claire nearly swooned as Jamie kissed her—it truly had been too long. She had built a wall around herself, convinced herself out of necessity that she could do without his touch. She’d been wrong. She leaned into his body, giving in to his strength, relishing the peaty taste of his mouth on hers. Then she remembered, and pulled back abruptly. “In front of him?! Have you gone mad?” 

John was frozen with indecision. He knew, of course, that proper decorum demanded he dress and leave them as quickly and discreetly as possible, but he couldn’t convince himself to do so. Watching Jamie’s passion from afar was a sight to behold. And if he was really considering…

Claire saw her husband tilt his head at Lord John, who answered the call by rising from the bed. She kept her eyes locked with Jamie’s. Was this really something he needed?

“Take off her shift,” he was saying. Her heart thudded. What to do? It wasn’t a matter of feeling safe. She knew she had only to say no once, and both men would immediately respect her wishes. Her mind told her to do it, to stop this insanity now, but her body had other ideas. She had to admit, she was curious. She’d fantasized once or twice about what sex would be like with both her husbands at once. But this man was not her husband, and never would be. A genteel voice spoke softly from behind her. “May I?” 

Claire nodded almost imperceptibly. Jamie raised her arms above her head and nodded to John, who bent to grasp the hem of the flimsy fabric that covered her discernibly womanly curves. He pulled the shift slowly up her body and over her head. 

Jamie moved in for another long, deep kiss, this time letting his hands trail over his wife’s body. Then he reached out for John, pulling him closer. Claire stood, soft, between their rigid forms, waiting. Dear God what am I doing? she wondered vaguely, feeling Grey’s warm erection press into her back. 

“Is she no’ beautiful?” Jamie was asking. He had taken John’s hand and was now placing it on Claire’s left breast. 

“Most beautiful,” John agreed. His fingers closed over the breast and kneaded it gently. He couldn’t care less about Claire’s breasts—might as well have been grasping her hand, in fact. But Jamie was clearly deriving a lot of enjoyment from the scene. His cock stood straight and hard against his wife’s belly, and his fiery eyes urged John on. 

Claire’s hand found Jamie’s cock and squeezed, as if to reassure herself of something. Soft lips were travelling down her neck and strange fingers played with her nipple. She felt a flush of heat and heard a sigh but didn’t recognize it as her own. Then Jamie’s tongue was in her mouth, seeking. After all the weeks apart, she couldn’t possibly deny him. Not even this. He brought a hand up between her thighs, just grazing the delicate petals of her moistening womanhood, and her knees gave way. Two pairs of strong arms held her up and carried her to the bed.


	11. Don't Touch Me Unless I Ask You To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie are together at last--but what's Lord John to do?

Claire’s head was swimming. She felt drunk, even though she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in days. Her legs writhed on the bed as she squirmed with desire. Four months of celibacy, and now this… whatever this was. She was beginning not to care. As long as she could have Jamie inside her, feel the completeness of their bodies joined at last, she was willing to close her eyes and let things unfold as they may. There would be plenty of time for analysis and consequences later. Lightly calloused hands parted her legs and she felt something wet touch her swollen centre. Dear God, who was—her eyes flew open to see an auburn-haloed head between her thighs. Relaxing, she breathed deeply and shut her eyes again. She didn’t want to see where he—Lord John—was. She hadn’t heard him in several minutes, in fact, and was earnestly hoping he’d left. Jamie slid a finger inside her and she shivered with delight. 

“God, ye’re dripping, Sassenach.” 

“Yes, well…” What could one say to that? Even the tender skin of her thighs quivered under Jamie’s touch. She literally couldn’t wait. “I want you now, Jamie.” 

Within seconds, his stiff cock was inside her, filling her aching vagina with its pulsing thickness. “Yes, Jamie, yes!” she moaned, reaching down to push him deeper. Her hands encountered an obstacle, and she opened her eyes. John’s hands were on Jamie’s ass already, squeezing gently. She lifted a foot and kicked the interloper’s arm. 

“Ow!” he cried indignantly. 

“Get. Out,” she whispered over Jamie’s shoulder. 

“What, Claire? Did ye say something?” Jamie was panting so hard, he could barely hear. He didn’t wait for an answer but continued to thrust, deeply and steadily, into his wife’s soft embrace. 

Grey retreated to a corner, watching. Jamie hadn’t asked him to leave. 

After a few minutes, just as Claire began to feel the telltale twitching of muscles begging for release, Jamie withdrew and lay on his back beside her. “I don’t want it to end yet, Sassenach. Just need a bit of a rest.” 

With the large body no longer blocking her view, she could see that Lord John was still there, his lanky frame draped into an armchair, one hand in his lap. He was looking at Jamie as though the Scot were a very large and delicious steak. Claire had had enough. “Jamie.” 

“Hmm?”

“Jamie!” She took his chin in her hand and turned his face toward her own. “Can’t you tell him to leave?” 

Grey stood quickly. “I’ll go.” 

“No!” Jamie’s voice was unnaturally loud. Both Claire and John were surprised. Now that he had his woman back, whatever did he need a man for? Jamie rose slowly, walked to where John was hesitating uncertainly, took his hand, and led him to the bed. “Claire,” Jamie began. “Don’t say no yet. Just… consider it. Please. For me.” 

John looked around for something to cover himself with but, seeing only the discarded Fraser plaid, resigned himself to standing naked. He shook off Jamie’s hand, straightened his back, and spoke in his most polite tone. “Your wife is unhappy, sir. I shall have no further part in this.” He turned to go.

“I didn’t say that,” Claire mumbled. 

Lord John halted in the doorway. 

“See, John? She’s no’ unhappy, just a wee bit nervous. Ask her yerself.” 

“Do you… wish me to stay, madam?” John sought Claire’s eyes, but she refused to meet his. 

“All right, you can stay. Just… don’t touch me unless I ask you to.” She looked up at him finally, resolve showing on her face. Her wild brown curls had fallen from their pins and were loose upon her creamy shoulders. 

“Of course, my dear.” Inwardly, John relaxed. Good—he didn’t really want to touch her, anyway. She didn’t say anything about her husband, though… 

Jamie smiled and rolled onto his wife again, making room for John on the bed.


	12. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tries to understand Jamie's physical need for John.

“Can you at least tell me why you want him here?” Claire was saying as Jamie suckled her breasts. She found that, as much as she wanted her husband, she just couldn’t understand why he’d allowed—even encouraged—Lord John to join their bed. 

Jamie sat up reluctantly. “I told ye he helped me, aye? But I didna mean only physically. We shared…” Here he looked to John, whose posture revealed how self-conscious he felt, lying next to Claire. “Stories. Histories. We…what’s that phrase ye like to use? We bonded. Not that he could ever replace you, Sassenach—that’s no’ what I mean at all,” he hastened to add. “It’s just… something I canna quite explain.” 

Claire thought she was beginning to see. The two men had maintained a deep and loyal friendship over the years—including many years during which Claire herself had been absent, stuck in another time, in Boston. Lord John had helped Jamie’s kinsman in Ardsmuir, had watched helplessly as Jamie was flogged, had given him his freedom, protected and watched over him at Helwater, agreed to play the role of father to his son. And now… they’d shared stories? Histories? What did that mean? Could Jamie really have told Grey about Black Jack Randall? It was clear that whatever Jamie meant, he felt now that there were strings tying him to John that could no longer be severed. He seemed to need the other man there as an extra comfort, despite the physical and emotional presence of his wife. She decided to try not to resent it. 

John had kept quiet and still, not wishing to intrude or to say anything that might upset either Claire or Jamie. He found her staring at him now, holding a pale hand out toward him. “Believe me, my dear. I have no desire to come between you. I have seen Jamie’s love for you grow stronger over the decades, not weaker. It could never be extinguished even if I wished it. And I do not.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing gently. 

“Then we have no quarrel, Lord John. And I thank you for…being there for my husband, when I was not.” She pulled her hand away from his and rested it against his cheek. “I know you cover your pain for the sake of others.” 

Jamie cleared his throat in an attempt to gain back their attention. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’d verra much like ta get back to what I was daein’…”  
Claire put a hand on each man’s shoulder and they turned toward her. 

As Jamie kissed her breasts, John lay on his side behind him, stroking Jamie’s side and hip. When Claire closed her eyes, he let his hand wander down to the Scotsman’s crotch. Jamie’s breath grew heavier. He reached eager fingers down to pleasure his wife. When he heard her moans as he brought her to orgasm, he felt his own body release into John’s grasp. Claire felt the hot stickiness on her thigh and her eyelids fluttered open in time to see Grey remove his hand. Mingled as it was with overwhelming pleasure, the moment was not tainted but somehow enhanced. The strange sight of masculine love was not repulsing her but, rather unexpectedly, making her flush with a new, uninhibited lust. 

“More,” she breathed, and John smiled.


	13. Letting In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Lord John remembers a very wild night and ponders Jamie's and Claire's motivations.

The next morning, John awoke in a tangle of sheets and limbs. His right leg lay on top of Jamie’s left, and Claire was draped across Jamie’s torso, her right hand resting on John’s chest. Once they had gotten over the initial awkwardness, the rest of the day and night had been something of a blur. He recalled imbibing a great deal of red wine, although he suspected that Jamie’s wife had drunk even more. She could have refused Jamie his shocking request, and the big Scotsman would have—reluctantly—told John goodbye. So why did she not? Why, indeed.

There had always been something slightly off about Claire, something suspiciously not of this world. She had the most impressive moral fortitude he’d seen in a woman, and yet she showed very little shame or decorum. She seemed to live by her own set of rules and not to care overmuch about society’s. Perhaps this was because of her profession, John mused. She was the opposite of prudish. But still, why? He’d wondered, at first, if it was only to please her husband that she gave in so quickly to the outlandish idea of a ménage à trois. As the hours crept on, though, it became apparent that she was satisfying her own desires as much as Jamie’s. 

Jamie had kept trying to bring his two lovers together physically, even going so far as to leave them alone in the room at one point. Claire had looked at John strangely, as though she’d been considering it, but, seeing his cold response, tried nothing. When Jamie returned, they were sitting up in bed, discussing the problem of where to find a good tailor in the New World. 

But when Jamie was there, an inner fire lit them both. Claire lay beside her husband and reached for him, gripping his manhood possessively in her small hand. John turned to her with a question in his eyes and when she nodded, he leaned in for a kiss. His mouth glided over Jamie’s again and again, and Claire watched in fascination. Then John slid down and took the end of Jamie’s cock in his mouth. His lips touched Claire’s fingers as she stroked her husband, watching John’s head bob up and down. Jamie just lay there in bliss, his eyes closed and a silly smile on his face. 

The most remarkable moment had come later, when Jamie suggested they “do it like beasts.” He’d hauled the drunken Claire to her knees, knelt behind her, and gestured for John to follow up the rear. As Jamie moved inside his wife with a steadying grip on her hips, John bent his angelic head to Jamie’s ass, creating a supple, slick entryway with his wet tongue. When the Scotsman moaned, Grey wasn’t sure which partner he was reacting to. Claire was panting heavily, but she faced the wall, her hands spread out on the pillow in front of her. After readying his own equipment, John nudged at Jamie’s opening, sighing with pleasure when the big man thrust his hips back in encouragement. He pushed his cock into Jamie’s ass slowly, holding onto him with both hands. 

Jamie let out a groan and Claire twisted her head to look. The sight of it filled her body with a pulsing heat. She reached down to touch herself, circling her clitoris with two wet fingers. 

John, greedily taking everything in, was surprised to find himself aroused by Claire’s actions. He thrust deeper into Jamie, who in turn thrust deeper into Claire. Their rhythms synchronized perfectly, and when Jamie arched his back and cried out, “O, Dhia!,” John felt the damn of his own desire burst. He grunted softly as he emptied into Jamie but held himself upright on trembling knees, not wanting to injure Claire with a double collapse of male bodies. 

It was only later that he realized the enormity of what had occurred. Never mind whatever Claire had allowed. Jamie had allowed it. Jamie had allowed John to make love to him. What courage had that taken? John doubted that the redhead had been so inebriated that he’d forgotten to be anxious. Was it the presence of his wife that had made him relax enough to let Lord John in?  
***  
Now, Jamie gently traced a finger over the dark hairs on John’s chest, watching his lover’s breath rise and his nipples harden at the touch. He bent over and flicked his tongue over John’s left nipple, causing Grey to place a hand on the back of Jamie’s head to urge him on. The full lips closed over the nipple, sucking hard. John let out a gasp. 

“Did I hurt ye?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” John breathed. “Do it again.” 

Claire stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Jamie gently picked up her hand and removed it from John’s chest. He bent to his task again. 

“Jamie?” John whispered. 

“Mmm?”

“Thank you for… last night. I hope you were not disturbed by my actions.” 

“No, mo ghràidh. Ye’ve proven yourself to me. I could never be afraid of your touch again. But ye might yet be afraid o’ me.” His teeth closed lightly over Grey’s nipple, and Lord John smiled. All was right with the world again.


End file.
